The Crematorium

With all the cooking over the past few days I have been giving the microwave quite a workout. It is getting on in years and I think its time is coming soon to be retired. I’m going to be sort of sorry to see it go. I don’t think that you could say that I have a sentimental attachment to the thing, but how I got it does have a bit of an odd history.

It all began with my having what was perhaps the most bizarre in a long history of bizarre conversations with my mother.

I had just moved into the apartment I am now living in. I don’t think I’d been here over a month when the phone rang. It was my mother. As usual, she asked how I was and then not waiting for an answer launched into here chosen topic.

“You know your Uncle George and your Aunt Rose have never been good at planning ahead.” , she said. “Well…. Your father and I have sold them part of our burial plot. There will be plenty of room, since this cemetery will let you cram as many people as will fit, so if you are cremated then there will be plenty of room for us and all of their kids too. As long as we’re all cremated. Now your father doesn’t want to be cremated, but even so there will still be plenty of room. You were planning on being cremated weren’t you?

I allowed that cremation was what I had planned on, not adding that I didn't have the least intention of spending eternity in the same burial plot as my nearest and dearest relations.

“And we’ve already had everyone’s name put on the headstone…”

“Uh, there’s already a headstone?” I asked.

Well, we got a really good deal on it, and it was going to be cheaper if we just had everyone’s names put on it. With the birth dates, so all they have to do is fill in the rest of the information when we “go”., she said.

“You’re telling me my name is on a headstone up in Vermont?”

“Now don’t be like that. So. Do you have a microwave?”, she asked.

At this point all I could think was that my mother was going to suggest we perform home cremations in order to cut further costs.

Uh…. Nooooo? I ventured.

Well, George and Rose are paying us in installments, since they don’t have all the money to pay for their share of the plot. And George just won a microwave oven in the church raffle…. Insert long winded exposition on, why is it that other people have all the luck, my mother never wins anything, the personal shortcomings of the parish priest and several members of the congregation and why doesn’t anyone dress for church any more.

….so your Uncle George is trading us the microwave for part of the price of the plot.

At this point I was a little lost and I think I said something brilliant like, “that’s nice”.

Well…. We already have that new microwave that your father is always making popcorn in. They really are handy, you know you can cook hot dogs in them in 2 minutes….. Insert lengthy discourse on the wonders of modern appliances, how if my mother didn’t watch every forkful of food that goes into my fathers mouth that he would have killed himself with another heart attack by now, the failings of all his siblings in their eating habits and how their respective spouses were neglecting their matrimonial duties by not making everyone’s life a dietary purgatory.

…..and I don’t believe she’s letting Aldore eat SHRIMP!”

“Well, said mom, I already asked your sisters and the boys if they wanted the microwave, but they already have one, so I thought I’d call you up and see if you wanted it.”

My dear little mother, god bless her, has a way of taking the joy out of anything and this was among the least gracious offers of generosity that I have ever received, but a free microwave was free microwave so I accepted the offer.

A few days later I had my new microwave. A couple of weeks later my friend Juanita was over and I was telling her the story. When I got to the part about my mother asking me if I had a microwave in the middle of the burial plot story, Juanita just looked at me and asked, “Is she expecting you to do home cremations?” I told her that that had been my first thought. We got a good laugh out of the whole thing and Juanita dubbed the oven, "The Pelletier Family Crematorium".

As I say, after 15 years, the oven is on it’s last legs and I am going to have to think sooner rather than later about getting a new one. I do know however that I wont’ be able to get one that was part of a barter deal for a burial plot. Unless anyone out there is in need of a final resting place. I can get you a spot in exchange for a new microwave. The cremation we’ll have to negotiate on.

The morning after

I have managed to survive Thanksgiving and against all expectations, I do not feel like a bloated corpse.

The problem with developing good eating habits is that they become a habit. While I did have such delightful items as asparagus and cream cheese wrapped with prosciutto and garlic mashed potatoes, made with butter and heavy cream and duck with a pan gravy, I found myself eating reasonably sized portions.

This is so wrong!

Pre-paid

I am getting ready for the eating orgy I am planning on Thursday. Saturday and today, I really knocked the shit out of myself at the gym and tomorrow and Wednesday are shaping up to be more ass kicking.

Why, you ask? After all, I'm the guy who is planning quiet day at home, right?

Just because I am going to spend the day on my own reading, doesn't mean I am not going to get into the spirit of the thing. I already have the menu planned. Roast duck, with rosemary, lemon, honey, cranberry sauce. Garlic mashed potatoes and Savoy cabbage. Okay, I know I'm weird, but I love cabbage. For dessert I am making pumpkin pie with a pecan short crust. Salad and snack type food will also feature in there somewhere. Monkey was telling me about asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, which just sounds too good to pass up as an appetizer. The possibility of cheddar biscuits is also looming on the horizon in a tantalizing manner. Basically, I am planning a carbohydrate and fat festival. I might even go crazy and have a glass of wine or 2 with dinner.

Also, to let you know I am not completely pathetic and friendless, I am planning on going to the MFA with a couple of friends on Friday after the gym (hey, I'm going to have to work off the excesses of Thursday) to see this exhibit of decorative arts from the Napoleonic era.

Then it will be a couple of days of goofing off and of course, more penance for enjoying our national celebration of one of my favorite vices. Gluttony.

Contrast

Yesterday morning stepping off the train and walking across the campus, the skies was filled with roiling dark gray clouds. The cold rain was coming down and the wind was blowing and chasing the leaves out of the trees like flocks of frightened, brightly colored birds, swirling crazily through the air.

By the time I headed home, walking across the Mass. Ave bridge, night was falling. Looking west, the last of an autumn sunset was outlining the horizon. A thin band of glowing orange, the few clouds left, a deep purple and the sky going from a deep vibrant lapis to deepest indigo, where a waxing crescent moon somewhere between quarter and half hung like a lantern. A Maxfield Parrish sky.

To the east the sky was black and the skyscrapers downtown were still lit. Yellow and pale orange light still illuminating the windows, red lights on top of the buildings warning air craft and making the city look like a giant Christmas ornament. Off in the distance the Zakim bridge barely visible in the half light, looking like it was spun from gossamer. The contrast at that fugitive time between twilight and night was magical.

This morning I went off to the gym first thing. When I got there, there was no one yet there and I began the days torture. As I started going through my routine people began to trickle in.

I went upstairs to use one of the machines. A member I had never seen before was there. He was young handsome fellow, though handsome in that regular featured sort of way that I have never found all that appealing, but he was handsome none the less.

Observing him as I rested between sets, he was doing the set round on the machine circuit. One of those people who either because of the blessings of youth or good genetics was able maintain an impressive physique just using machines. I will admit to more than a twinge of envy. I have to be unrelenting with the free weights or it's all over. I finished my sets and headed back downstairs to the free weight room.

As I was working my way through another set, one of the regulars I am familiar with came in. I have seen him for the past 2 years that I have gone to my gym. He is 80 if he's a day. He literally totters around and looks incredibly fragile. But he comes every day, like clockwork. He works out with the free weights and it is a bit frightening at times, he looks so frail. Yet he persists.

As I watched him out of the corner of my eye, I thought to myself, will I have that much determination in 25 years? What, I asked myself does he see, when he looks at me? Does he feel the same resigned envy that I felt looking at the young fellow upstairs in the bloom of youth, able to maintain a handsome physique with what seemed to me, so little effort? Is that what I look like to this old gentleman?

It was a bit like the day yesterday. Two extremes. A cold grey rainy morning, with its own beauty, and then the clear cold walk home, walking a bridge between the end of a day and the beginning of a night.

Slow news day

It is turning into a typical holiday week. 4 days at work with 5 days of work crammed into it, which makes it feel like a 6 day week.

On top of it all, I have jury duty today. I swear they have it in for me!

Every couple of years, like clockwork, I get called. A few years ago there were a few items in the Boston Globe about this. It would seem that instead of selecting from the entire pool of eligible citizens, they just kept a record of selected jurors and kept calling them as soon as they were once again able to serve. They were suppose to do something about the situation, but it doesn't seem, at least to me, that they have.

I called in last night to see if my pool had been canceled. No such luck. Honestly, I'd rather go to work.

Other than that, not too much happening. They are predicting the first snowfall of the year for Friday, though not so much snow as flurries. As unbelievable as it is, Thanksgiving is next week.

I have yet to make up my mind what to do. I believe I am still invited to Wahz house for the occasion, though I have mixed feelings about that. There will be about 14 people there and as I get older, these big gatherings don't have the appeal that they once did. It's odd, because everyone who is invited I have known and liked for many years now. Just not all at once.

I am looking forward to what I hope will be a quiet weekend. Laundry, grocery shopping and not much else. Exciting huh? I feel like I need some time to myself, so I am actually looking forward to it. So, I can pretty much count on something coming up that will require my attention.

Oh well, off to they gym and then the Suffolk Superior Courthouse for a day of being bored out of my mind.

Huh?

It has been a slow few news days here in Ganome land. The long weekend was pleasant enough, but nothing earth shaking happened. I went over to my friend C's place and watched Ratatouille which I managed to miss when it was in the theater. It was fun, and I enjoyed the movie and the chance to catch up with C. who I haven't seen much of over the past few weeks. If you haven't seen Ratatouille yet, I can recommend it. If you're a foodie, you will get all the gags and if you're not a foodie, it will give you an idea of why people become so passionate about food.

Sunday I spent the early afternoon with RG, so that he could replenish his office drag and get some music. Actually, I got a private chuckle out of the proceedings. Considering the amount of ribbing I have taken from him lately about the "Battan Death March" every time we get together, at his instigation we started from the the Fenway and didn't stop for lunch until we hit Chinatown. Over the course of our shopping expedition there was plenty of eye candy wandering around loose. Though the prize winner for the day was in the Filene's Basement outlet on Boylston St.

We had gone over to the Basement so I could, of course, use the restroom. We were getting ready to head off and were almost at the door when I was stopped dead in my tracks by this absolutely gorgeous kid. RG continued on oblivious. I snatched him by the back of his coat and hissed, "Look!"

RG was all, "Where?".

"Over by the sweaters."

"Huh?"

I grabbed the back of his head and directed him to the steaming hottness that was leaving a vapor cloud where he stood.

I looked at RG for a second, picked the carpet lint off my tongue and then said, "Let's go look at sweaters."

Just as we got within drooling range, the kid took off his jacket. Things just got better. RG turned and looked at me with the face of an 8 year old that has been told that there will be no Christmas.

Undaunted, RG did shamelessly chat the young fellow up a bit. Then it was off to downtown so RG could get some music. RG then decided that it was time for lunch and we should have Dim Sum. It was a great idea. I haven't gone to Chinatown on a Sunday in ages and by the time we got there, the majority of brunchers had cleared out so there was no trouble getting seated or waited on, the little carts rolling around and dumplings, spring rolls and other goodies appeared on the table. We really did stuff ourselves.

After that, neither of us was in much condition to move, so we went our separate ways.

That evening I was contacted by my friend L. and wound up having an evening which featured a fair amount of naughtiness and then some dinner. At his suggestion, we went to a burger joint in Kenmore Square. I think what made the meal more memorable than anything else was the company and the forbidden fruit aspect of a burger and fries. I really have to get my eating habits back on track.

Yesterday was gray and cold, a real New England November day and I mostly hunkered down and took it easy. I swapped a couple of emails with FB, but mostly to catch up and talk about getting together in the near future.

I went off to the market in the afternoon while there was still some light and on the walk home I found myself being cruised by a very attractive young man who was traveling in the opposite direction, he with his Whole Foods bags and me with my bags from Shaw's. I gave him a smile which he returned and then we both did the continue on, count to three and look back. Yup, he was checking the old guy out. Another count of three, rinse and repeat. Judging by the evidence of the shopping bags, I am assuming he lives in the neighborhood and next time I will stop, chat the boy up and see what I can get up to.

I mentioned this little cruising incident to RG when we were chatting online last evening. His response was, "you get cruised a lot more than you notice. You just don't notice." I would dismiss this except that Monkey-boy keeps telling me the same thing.

The other thing that occurred, in that light, over the weekend was that on three separate occasions I had people describe me to my face as muscular.

To quote RG. Huh?

Honestly, these ideas of how I appear to others are completely outside of my personal frame of reference. I tend to think of myself as either passable or no great shakes.

I suppose that I should be happy about this. Feel flattered, get a fat head over the whole thing. I can only assume that while I only admit to myself out loud that I go to the gym for health reasons, that I do on some level hope for the ever elusive hot guy status.

On some level, I realize that my friends who tell me I should be cutting myself a little slack are right. I should try and be happy working with what I've got and derive some satisfaction from the goals that I have achieved and balance that against other goals that are still to be attained. But that's how we make progress. Not by complaisancy but by trying to become more than what we are.

I think also that on the whole, I am more worried about whether people think I am a good person and whether I am able to fool people into thinking I still have a couple of active brain cells than in winning any beauty contests.

I was talking with La Simpatica about this when we were getting coffee this morning. She seems to think that we form an idea of ourselves at some early point in our life and that's the image that we walk around with ever after. So, I will probably think of myself as the skinny funny looking kid, when I am not feeling like the dumpy middle aged guy, for the rest of my life.

Still, it is nice to get checked out once in a while.

Sunday

Sunday could not have been more different than Saturday. The day was clear and chilly and the sky was as blue as blue could be.

Tate had risen early and called me up to let me know he was ready to stretch his legs so we met up fairly early and decided to take a walk around Beacon Hill.

Making pigs of ourselves on BBQ the night before seemed to have recharged our batteries. And so I once again drove the hapless Tate through the streets, bloviating at him. I was able to point out such historic sights as a townhouse on Mt. Vernon Street where I had once had some of the most boring sex of my life. The only reason I remembered was because the place had been so beautifully decorated. Tater wisely guessed that I was screaming such endearments as "Where did you get that carpet?" during the throws of passion.

The disappointments of the day were that both Gavin and RG were unable to join us. I feel particularly bad about Gavin's weekend long indisposition. Really, he was the impetus for this gathering when he announced he wanted to come to Boston for the weekend to go to a Celts game and things snowballed from there. I really didn't get to spend as much time with Gavin as I would have liked and will have to live with communicating via email for a while until the next time the bloggers gather.

As Tate was being mercilessly pontificated at about the Hill and it's significance in Boston history and more importantly the tawdry history of my now defunct sex life, the phone rang and it was the Farmboyz. The were over at the Public Gardens and ready to meet us for brunch. Tate foolishly thought that respite was at hand but after meeting the boyz at the ass end of George Washington's horse, encouraged by the prospect of fresh victims, I began a forced march up Charles Street, running my yack at a mile a minute until my hapless companions were ready to drop from hunger.

I am not a completely merciless Ganome. I had actually hoped to go to a landmark greasy spoon called The Paramount, however there was a long line of yuppies waiting in line to be ironic about their eggs and hash browns.

I was beginning to understand how the Holy Family must have felt in their search for an inn. I of course in my starring role as the jackass.

So the forced march continued. After a couple more instances of hopes that food and rest were dashed we finally chose a place on the one saving grace that it presented. There were empty tables.

Since having to wait over long for food was a major theme of the weekend, the staff at this little eatery seemed to have got the memo and ignored us. I was starting to think that this place somehow existed soley to lure in expectant and hopeful diners only to torment them with the prospect of food and have them ultimately leave in disgust.

As chance would have it my bb sized bladder was calling for attention and I went in search of the rest room that they claimed to have, which a sign proclaimed was only for the use of patrons. I went up to the counter to determine the location of this exclusive convenience and also informed our hosts that we would like to order.

They seemed perfectly able to direct me to the bathroom, but seemed a bit confused by the concept of paying clients. None the less we did eventually manage to get a waitress and ordered what turned out to be an adequate if lack luster meal. The dessert case however looked very tempting, and having blown my diet out my ass by this time, I ordered the chocolate cake that appeared to feature cake, mousse and ganache. This was my downfall.

Having rendered myself into the condition of a python that has just swallowed a whole pig, the Farmboyz seized my lethargy and fled to Newbury Street to do some shopping and Tater had to get back to his hotel in order to check out and get off to the airport.

We said our goodbyes to the Farmboyz and I walked Tate back to his hotel and we said our goodbyes in the lobby and parted with a big hug.

The weekend was exhausting and I haven't had such a good time in ages. Handsome is as handsome does and all of the guests were easy on the eyes and easy on the soul.

Really, it was a peculiar situation. Meeting people you essentially have only a long distance contact with and then when you meet in the flesh, there is an ease and genuine connection.

Father T has a theory that what attracts us and allows for this ease of movement between the virtual and the real is that we are all curious people. We are interested in other people and their ideas and what makes them tick. I think there is something to this idea and I am looking forward to meeting up with these characters again and hopefully with some additions. Lynette consider yourself put on notice! No more excuses.

Fortune Cookie

I got this in my daily dose of spam.

"It is the size of ones penis which determines success"

Is it just me or does this look like a fortune cookie motto?

Saturday (part 2)

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is an eccentric institution to say the least. It is an Italian villa that was constructed by Mrs. Garnder to do double duty to serve as a museum to house her collection of Renaissance art as well as to be her home. It is located in Boston's Fenway neighborhood, behind the MFA and at the time of it's construction looked out over the city dump. The land which was largely a tidal swamp was filled in and now is part of the Emerald Necklace park system and a residential area.

The Niece and I having seen Tate and Gavin off at the streetcar stop headed over to this oddball museum.

Once you have made your way through the admissions area and been exhorted not to take pictures, talk on your cell phone and to check your bags and coats you are greeted with an atrium sculpture garden.

As part of Mrs. Jack's rather complicated will, the museum has it's own greenhouse and a staff of gardeners to continuously refresh the atrium with set pieces, each display dictated down to the last plant changing with the seasons in an order dictated by the will.

The will is as much a part of the museum as any of the artwork. It is an amazing documentary example of how dictatorial one could be at the beginning of the 20th century if one had enough money. Among the provisions are the terms that none of the exhibits are to be changed in any way, (Mrs. Jack had decided where objects should be placed and no others opinion mattered) and that no art was to be loaned or removed. If any of the conditions of the will were broken, the collection was to be broken up and all the art was to be sold. This caused a small flutter in 1990 when the museum was robbed. 13 works were stolen from the museum in a bizarre turn of events, where the robbers presented themselves as Boston Police officers investigating a call and proceeded to tie the guards up and went on a shopping spree. There are a number of theories about who paid for this heist and who received the art, but in fact it remains a mystery and it can only be hoped that eventually the paintings will find their way home to Boston.

The Niece is an engineer by training and managed to avoid art education, therefore the museum was all new and the it's collection were all a fresh experience to her. I gave the poor woman a crash course in renaissance and late medieval art. I told her how Mrs. Jack and her agents stripped villas and palazzos of architectural details to ornament the building. We wandered up the 3 floors past dimly lit tapestries examples of religious art and depictions of classical mythology. I pointed out one set of wrought iron railings that are actually a pair of ornate headboards, where from I have never bothered to find out

With the gloom of the day and the controlled lighting of the facility it was all a bit spooky, the galleries all in a half light. I made sure that we also visited the Sargent portraits of our hostess and told about the, at the time, rather scandalous nature of the famous portrait of Gardner and her famous pearls.

We made our way finally back down to the ground floor and ended our tour with El Jaleo. It wasn't planned but it was a sufficiently dramatic end to the tour, standing in the Spanish Gallery looking at on of John Singer Sargent's greatest works.

But, by this time the hour was getting close to our rendez vous with the others at Redbones in Davis Square.

We took a short break stopping at the pigsty that I call home where Alice pretended to by shy when introduced to the Niece. It was good to get off my feet for a few minutes. I was enjoying myself but I was also starting to flag a bit. After about a half an hour it was time to head off to the T and over to Somerville.

In some ways this was a new experience for me. Hitherto I have only enjoyed the artery clogging goodness that is Redbone's BBQ via take out. I had never actually sat down in the restaurant and so I learned some very important things.

One being that it remains wildly popular and by the time we got there at 6 it was already packed. I also found out you have to leave your name with the hostess and the EXACT number of people in the party. You will not be seated until all of your party has arrived. This was a bit of a problem since I didn't know exactly how many of us were going to be there so I hazarded a guess at 8 and waited for the others to show up.

The first to arrive was Atari, followed shortly by the Farmboyz who had gotten slightly lost on the way from the T stop, but managed to find their way there. I introduced the Niece and people started talking. The topics ranged from urban living, cell phones and the idiots who use them, SUV sized strollers and the evil yuppie assholes that push them and the sensible idea of controlling motor traffic in densely populated urban areas, and the best places to find cheap sex and the conventions thereof in different areas. RG arrived and the talk continued to flow as we were increasingly jostled by the throng either waiting to be seated or out for a Saturday evening drink or 3.

Tate had not yet arrived and I was starting to wonder. RG and I went outside so I could call and we could take a much needed cigarette break. My call went straight to Tater's answering service. All we could do was shrug and hope Tater was on the way and we headed back in to rejoin our companions. We continued to wait and I have to admit, my good humor was starting to flag. I was tired and hungry and by this time the happy crowd of would be diners were starting to get on my nerves.

RG and I went back outside and I tried Tater again. Once more I got his service. At this point I really was getting concerned. I also was getting crankier and I am sad to say expressed this to RG. Fortunately, RG tends to be good humor itself and did the right thing which was to ignore my bad humor. He suggested we just go in and tell the hostess that there were only 6 of us and we would deal with the situation when Tater arrived. Just as we turned to go in, my phone rang. It was Tater. He had been unable to get at cab and had braved the T. He had made it to Davis fine, only to be grossly misdirected when he asked for directions. Between his bad directions and some triangulation via cell phone we met up on the corner of Elm and Chester right near the restaurant. Gavin was not well enough to join us, so I amended the count with the hostess to 7 and good humor was restored.

After all, with such great company how could anyone maintain a bad humor. We were soon seated and began to peruse the menu. We had a cute somewhat goofy waiter. The Niece took pictures of the group and at one point the waiter took a shot so that the Niece could be included in the photos. Dinner got ordered conversation continued and shortly food was on the table. I was not the only one who was hungry it would seem. With the arrival of the plates, silence descended on the table as we all tucked in.

Everything that was on my plate was as good as I remembered, especially the cole slaw. This may require a little explanation. For some reason that I have never understood, Bostonians seem to think sugar is a necessary ingredient in cole slaw. I personally consider this an abomination. Redbones has not bowed to this perversion and it's cole slaw is still crunchy and tangy.

Everyone cleaned their plates in short order, with the exception of RG and Atari, who had ordered the hungry man plates and wound up with the next days lunch in take away bags. We are talking about serious, ovehanging the sides of the plate territory here. A bit more conversation and then time to get out and make way for other anxious diners. Outside the restaurant, RG talked one of the smokers standing outside to take our picture and you can see it over on his blog. By this time, we could see that the heavens had finally cleared and it was a relief to see stars in the cold night sky.

Father T and C decided to stop at Starbucks for some coffee and dessert, and the rest of us were ready to head off.

The T was unusually cooperative and before we knew it we were on a train headed back to Boston. There was more talking and joking around and Tate, the Niece and I said good-by to RG and Atari at Park Street as they headed down one more stop to make their connection for the Orange Line. I directed my charges to the correct platform, with the promise of seeing Tater again in the morning and then was up the stairs and on a street car pretty quickly myself.

I barely remember the walk home from the T stop and I got through the door of the pigsty at about 9:00. I swear I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. It had been a great day in spite of the weather all because of the great company.

Saturday (part 1)

I got home on Friday night well past my bedtime and went into my fractious 5 year old act. I have become a creature of habit and if I stay up too late I have a hard time getting to sleep regardless of how tired I am. I was up and down all night, until finally at around 4:30, my usual rising time I gave up and made some coffee.

Mark Twain has been credited with saying, "If you don't like the weather in New England just wait and it will change". Friday had been a clear chilly day, perfect for wandering around gawking, Saturday, tropical storm Norman had decided to come up the coast and pay us a visit. The day promised to be an example of pure New England.

As nor'easter's go, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being "You call this rain" and 10 being, "Oh shit, we're all gonna die" it was probably a 6. A low 6. Sure it was raining and was pretty damned windy, but it wasn't that black sky, rain literally coming down in sheets, thunder and lightening, water rising up above the tops of your shoes type of day that makes you wonder if it will end, or if you will be washed out into the harbour. I don't want to down play the situation. It was nasty out. Horizontal rain, cold and raw with a miserable dark gray sky and while it could have been worse, it was far from ideal conditions for sight seeing.

After I had poured a sufficiency of coffee I poured down my throat, I sent Tater a text, not wanting to wake him if he was still asleep, asking him to call if he still wanted to go to the gym when he had achieved a sufficient state of caffeination himself.

RG called to tell me Gavin was doing poorly, having injured his back. My immediate reaction was to ask rather pointedly, "What did you do to him?" Somewhat to my surprise, Gavin's woes had been brought on by using a gas powered leaf blower earlier that week and not due to the, er, vigorous attentions of a certain blogger.

Tate called to say he was still recovering from his flight and the late hours and was going to use the hotel pool and call back when he was ready to face the world.

A little while later Tate called to say he was ready to face the day and by around 8:30-9:00 I met up with Tater in Government Center. Tate by the time I met him had wisely given up on the idea of an umbrella and we went off on what turned into a quest for plastic rain ponchos. And a quest is what it turned into by the way. I can't remember precisely, but I think it took 4 tries at different CVS's before we found adult sized rain poncho's.

We then wandered around and killed time before meeting the Niece. I called T. to see what he and C. were up to. They were opting for a quiet day and simply asked for directions to the YMCA on Huntington so C. could play raquetball.

I called Gavin to check in. He was still not feeling well and we headed back over to Government Center to pick up the Niece who had called from the entrance of the T.

So, there was the greeting, introduction and handing off of what turned out to be a very timely birthday present for the Niece. I had given her an Aran sweater, which she found herself in need of. She left Marblehead feeling adequately dressed for the day only to step off the train in Boston to be greeted with much colder weather. That actually became a theme of the day, major temperature fluctuations.

By this time middle aged bladder was calling. I voted, okay I dictated that we would run over to Faneuil Hall so I could make use of the facilities, justifying this with the fact that I had not as yet shown Tater the place.

As we made our way over City Hall Plaza the rain started to let up. Tater said that he was game to try going over to the North End to check out the Old North Church and the Revere House. We entered Faneuil Hall and started working our way through the series of buildings in search of a rest room.

As we moved from building to building the rain began to pick up again and with each successive building the rain picked up a little more. By the time we reached Atlantic Avenue the rain was once again horizontal. Even Tater's willingness to brave the elements gave out and we decided to head to the MFA. We made our way back through the market and as we got to the end of Quincy Market my phone went off. It was Gavin calling to say he was feeling better and wondering where we were. As it would happen, we were in front of Gavin's hotel and before we knew it I was meeting a handsome fellow who turned out to be him. Gavin introduced himself around and then we headed off to the T and took the train to the museum.

It is a quick ride from Government Center to the Museum on the E line and before we knew it we were at the museum.

After we got tickets we headed to the current exhibit of Japanese art, "Drama and Desire, Japanese Paintings from the Floating World" which is an exhibit of depictions of theater, courtesans and erotica. It is actually a beautiful exhibit and Tate almost got thrown out for taking pictures. Though in fairness, you are suppose to be able to take pictures as long as you are not doing flash photography and Tate was using his iPhone so there was no flash involved. I can only assume that the guard was being officious because she could be.

Once we had got our fill of Japanese art, we decided to just wander and wound up in the American wing. One of the first rooms we came to was the Copley room which is all portraiture by John Singleton Copley of Revolutionary Era Bostonians. Tate made the amazing discovery of a portrait of one of the founding drag queens. Really, none of these folks were going to be finalists in a beauty contest, but this horsey babe even had a mustache. A good deal of irreverence was expended at the expense of these portraits and Gavin had joined in and seemed to be enjoying himself.

We worked our way through a few galleries, but by the time we got to the Sargent portraits, Tate was ready for a break and by then Gavin was starting to feel poorly again.

It was decided to head out for something to eat after I suggested we could get something for lunch for a reasonable sum outside the museum. We went a short way down Huntington and stopped at an Au Bon Pain. It was soup weather and for a chain, they do serve good soup.

Gavin decided to pass on food and by the time we had finished lunch, Gavin said he thought he should head back to his hotel and take a lie down. Tate decided that he would go back over to the waterfront as well and the Niece and I decided to head off to the Gardner Museum, since she had never made it over there.

to be continued

Irony

After a weekend which involved eating chicken parmesan, southern barbeque, clam chowder, beer and such otherwise forbidden items as bread, butter and cream, topped off at Sunday brunch with a substantial slab of gooey chocolate cake, I decided to face the music and get on the scales before I headed off to the gym.

I have lost 3 pounds.

So much for the rewards of virtue.

Friday

Friday the bloggers came to town. I had (as it turns out, wisely) taken the day off from work. I fiddled around the house a bit and took care of a few pressing chores and relaxed a bit before people were due to start arriving. By the time 4:00 rolled around I had wandered over to the waterfront to meet the first arrival, Tater.

As it turns out he had just got settled in, but was game for heading out to see some of Boston. He had a friend's pass to get into the Aquarium and not having been there for a while, I agreed it would be fun. I love the penguins!

However, just as we were walking up a tour group of students were mobbing their way to the entrance and we decided to rethink this.

Thus began the death march. Poor Tate. I dragged that man through historic Boston, boring him insensible with the history of the city and how it was developed. Through downtown, past the common, through the Public Garden into Back Bay and eventually to our rendez-vous in the South End with Will and the Farmboyz.

We got to the Cyclorama in the South End and I gave Will a call. He had already shown up and was just at the other end of the block and we found each other and started to talk about where to eat. The cell went off and it was Father T calling to let us know they had been delayed in traffic and would be arriving in about a half hour. We had already decided to eat at Picco in the the Boston Center for the Arts, so we went in to get a table. Thus began what was to be a theme for the weekend. Waiting to be seated. We were told it would be about a half hour. It is to laugh. The boys showed up and we waited and waited and waited. Eventually, when we were ready to expire from hunger we were seated and I began the weekend long assassination of my diet.

Once we got seated though, all else was forgotten because T and C started to converse. If you ever need to be entertained by anyone with good conversational skills, the Farmboyz are your men. I got to hear all sorts of interesting tidbits about Father T, C, Tate and Will. Dinner flew by and then the Farmboyz brought us by to see the building they were staying in. Specifically, the lobby, which had been Phillipe Stark'd within an inch of its life. Merciful heavens! I will leave it to T's descriptive powers so for the moment, suffice it to say I was... uh... impressed with the use of plastic.

After a quick tour we went over to meet Atari and Monkey. We were also joined by my friends C and Michele. Will and Atari know each other and people were introduced around. Have I ever mentioned that Atari is a little hottie? Just for the record he is. (Note to Atari, the first words out of La Simpatica's mouth were, indicating you, who's the cutie?) Drinks were ordered. Drinks were consumed. At one point the subject of my X rated tattoo on my back came up and as soon as I hiked up my shirt to show off, the cameras came out. I am assuming that Tate and the Farmboyz will be posting. Will got in on the act and displayed his own rather impressive collection of ink. More drinks were ordered and my friend La Simpatica discovered that fat bartenders in gay bars are somewhat immune to pretty women when he looked straight through her and asked Monkey what he wanted. She was understandably annoyed and frankly so were the rest of us. She did by the end of the evening however win the prize, when she told the really hot barback who was clearing glasses that she wanted his baseball cap. He laughed and told her is was dirty and she told him it could be cleaned up. We all got the impression that he was more interested in her than in any of us. And possibly having La Simpatica demonstrate her cleaning skills. Ain't it always the way?

Not long afterward, people were ready to head off and get some sleep. I got home past my bedtime and went into my over tired 5 year old act and could not get to sleep. The rest of the night was spent up and down, which wouldn't have been bad except I was doing it alone. Sigh.

Next up: Saturday, Reflections on New England weather, and how we spent the day and evening during a Nor'easter.

Quick post

I will be posting in greater detail about the blogger weekend here in Boston, but in the meantime here are pictures of Tate, the Farmboyz and Will and some relatives I ran into in the lobby of the building the Farmboyz were staying in.

The Big Day

Well, the wheels are in motion. I just got an email from Tater that he is waiting to board his plane. Odd as it seems the bloggers are coming to town. I am hoping to connect with Gavin, before RG spirits him off to a Celtics game. (I'd rather chew rusty razor blades) How the hell did November get here so fast?

Today is turning into a beautiful autumn day, to lull us all into a false sense of security, since tomorrow they're predicting high winds and rain. Way to go Boston! However at least for tonight Will and the Farmboyz ought to have smooth traveling conditions.

However, I unless I am sadly mistaken, a troupe of gay men will be able to find something to do with themselves regardless of the weather.

I am hoping for special guest appearances from La Simpatica tonight and the Niece tomorrow. Monkey is going to be meeting us at Fritz tonight and Mike who has to be out of town, should be turning up in time for Sunday brunch. I know that Atari is going to be appearing throughout the weekend.

I will have to make sure I pick up some extra batteries for the camera and try and remember to get some pictures of the festivities.

Happy Halloween

Just to get into the spirit of the day, here's something I found on YouTube. Enjoy!

Over at last

With a mere three dozen arrests, a few fires and the odd overturned private vehicle it is at last over. Yes, baseball season has finally ended and now I will only have to put up with the college students in my neighborhood until April.

Yeah, I know I'm just a big spoil sport. After all, it was just high spirits.

Welcoming committee

I spent some time yesterday with Atari and RG hammering out things for next weekend when our out of town guests arrive. Meet and greet will at Fritz in the South End around 8. Saturday morning ( I assume late morning ) we will hit the Freedom Trail. Saturday evening people will head over to Davis Square in Somerville to gorge on BBQ at Redbones, after which I imagine people will figure out how they will be amusing themselves for the rest of the evening. Sunday for those who can, brunch at Canestaro's in my neighborhood before people head off.

The out of towner's will be , Why Oh Why, Tater and the Farmboyz. (No Will, you don't count because you were a Bostonian until a couple of months ago.)

I should point out that this planning was done at great personal risk. In an ill advised moment, I ordered a Bloody Mary, which actually became quite bloody when I cut my lip on a chipped edge on the glass. I'm sure RG is still cursing himself for not getting a picture of me with a napkin stuffed in my mouth. I will have to write some on the quest to get a drink, which was epic and at one point I believe was being compared to the Battan Death March.

Away game

The past couple of nights have been great fun in the old neighborhood. Wednesday night I got to my neighborhood to find the fire department, emergency services and the mounted police all pulling vehicles up on the green space across the street from me as helicopters circled the stadium.

No sooner had I got in the door and fed Alice than my work cell phone began to ring. All I could think was, "What asshole is calling me at 5:30!".

"Hello, Sweetpea!", it was La Simpatica. "I was thinking about you. I'm over here in the Fenway. I've been stuck in traffic for at least a half hour. EVERY asshole in Boston is out on the road."

The poor woman was caught in the log jam that is Boston traffic on a game night because she was trying to get to her daughter's high school to pick her up after cheerleading practice. We chatted for a few minutes and tried to figure out a route that might be less crowded for the return to the North End.

After we hung up, I started dinner, blasting Die Walkure. Finally, it was time for bed and getting out the lovely new ear plugs I had picked up at the drug store I headed off to dreamland. It kind of worked. I didn't get woken up until the game let out around 1:00 a.m. It then took 2 hours to get back to sleep. Needless to say, when I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, I was not going to the gym.

After I had poured a sufficient amount of coffee into myself so that I would not be a danger to myself and others I headed out and stopped at my second favorite coffee place for a cup of motivation to get me across the river. I know the kid behind the counter who goes to Mass Art and we chatted for a bit. He lives right down the street from me and was telling me that there were buses from the department of corrections lined up in front of his building ready to take away any overly enthusiastic fans.

Last night as I approached my house I was greeted with the sight of all the emergency vehicles again with the added attraction of trucks and trailers from the department of corrections and officers in flack uniforms! It really reinforces the idea that sporting events are a wholesome, fun filled activity for the entire family. Bring grandma and the kids! (my tax dollars in action)

I'd like to think that tonight peace will reign in the Fenway. Saturday may be a whole different kettle of fish. Harkening back to the last time the Sox were in the World Series after an away game, thousands of people converged on the darkened stadium because... well it was empty... uh... and it was, ya' know, like the stadium. Besides it was as good an excuse as any to go on a vandalism spree and set a few cars on fire, cause ya' know, they were excited. C'mon! Where's your team spirit?

I sincerely hope the Sox win the next 2 games or whatever it takes to end this and keep them the hell out of town till next spring. Then once the rioting is over and however many weeks it takes before all the news outlets in town tire of repeating that the Sox won the world series (just in case you were trapped at the bottom of a well or in a coma and missed it) life can get back to what passes for normal and I won't have to put up with this horseshit again until next spring.

Maybe by then I will have managed to find a new job that will enable me to leave the country.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot, go sox.

Update with illustrations

Early this morning, I was telling Monkey about my day so far. I said something about the woman at the counter and my speculation about her probably complaining that her order was taking too long and that you could see it coming a mile off.

Monkey said something about a truck, I said yeah a truck full of stupid. Monkey then suggested a tanker full of stupidity, being driven by self importance. I told Monkey I liked it. He drew me a picture and I thought I'd share.

Morning report

EG in gym, attempting to kick own sissy ass with shoulder routine.

New guy: What about those Sox?

EG: (nobly refraining from braining straight boy with free weight) Meh.

New guy: Oh.

Score one for self restraint.

EG at regular morning coffee stop.

Woman with yoga mat in front of me insists that the counter person recite the varieties of smoothies that are not only posted on the overhead menu board, but are also on a special menu of their own, taped to the counter. Asks at least a dozen questions regarding said smoothie, orders smoothie, changes mind, changes mind back, pays for small smoothie, changes mind again, pays extra .85 for large smoothie. Walks away from counter. Counter waiter begins to pour coffee for EG, is interrupted by smoothie woman again who is beginning to express doubts about smoothie choice. EG pays for coffee, grabs purchase, (leaving tip, of course) and hurries away before smoothie lady has a chance to start complaining that she is in a hurry and wonders in loud voice why a simple order is taking so long. (You just know it was waiting to happen.) EG refrains from tearing smoothie woman a new one, on behalf of the poor counter help)

Score 2 for self restraint.

I've still got the rest of the day to get through. Whooo boy!

It has begun....

Last night I got home from work to chorus of news helicopters hovering over Fenway Stadium. I can only guess that, rather than use stock footage, they wanted to assure the viewing public that the stadium was still there. And empty. And they each needed their own man on the scene to reassure their viewers that no miscreants had walked off with the stadium and no one was actually on the field or in the bleachers.

I won't be at all surprised if they are back tonight for some more exciting shots of the empty stadium, to help build up the suspense. Weds. and Thurs. nights are going to be hell. The news helicopters and the advertising blimps are suppose to maintain a minimum altitude, in order to keep the noise down. Yeah, right.

But if any of you are in doubt, the stadium is still there and it is still empty. Film at 11.

A Night at the Opera

At a mere 80 minutes Ainadamar was about 20 minutes too long. I was not alone in this opinion, my regular opera buddy Wahz and I felt about the same.

Certainly, there was a lot good about the production. The set, 3 walls and the floor, painted as a mural by Gronk were spectacular. The lighting design was terrific and produced amazing visual drama and enhanced rather than distracted from the set and the performance of the singers.

Dawn Upshaw once again demonstrated her range and ability to sing just about anything. Jessica Rivera was impressive as Lorca and Jesus Montoya as the disembodied voice of Ruiz Alonso was downright eerie at times.

Peter Sellers production was, well Peter Sellers production. The man definitely has a signature style, which whether it is setting le Nozze di Figaro in Trump Towers or Aiandamar in a dream/nightmare scape he pulled it off. And the restraint in costuming and the highly stylized movement of the chorus helped reinforce the sense of this being a memory or a dream or a bit of both.

I think my major complaints are that the piece is really a cantata and I would have enjoyed the music just as much in recital setting and that the last 20 minutes of the production, to be blunt, dragged. Margarita Xirgu rose from the dead at least twice. I mean, give a soprano a good death scene and I am ready to get out my hanky, however once Violetta gives up the ghost I am not sure anyone wants her to get back up and give you a recap of the action. The material at hand, the Spanish Civil War has enough possibilities of the grand guignol to satisfy even the most blood thirsty opera goer, yet I never really got an overwhelming sense of dramatic imperative. The music explored flamenco, gypsy, kleszmer and sephardic music and on the whole was effective and interesting yet as a piece it didn't seem structurally to hold together.

Don't get me wrong. I am thrilled that Opera Boston is willing to take the risk to mount new productions instead of dragging out the same 3 warhorses year after year. I was pleased to have the privilege of seeing and listening to Ms. Upshaw and as I said the show was not without its merits or moments of enjoyment. If the show as a whole was not something I would go racing back to for a second helping it did have the merit of bringing something fresh to the Boston Opera scene. Next operatic stop, Handel's Semele. Like I said at the beginning of the post one of Ainadamar's virtues was that it was only 80 minutes, Semele on the other hand will try even the most firmly padded backside. I'll let you know how it goes.

Red Sox Nation

It would seem that the Red Sox are going to the world series, or bringing it here, or whatever the process is. woo-hoo. My enthusiasm knows bounds.

I have been giving my deep burning hatred for all things Red Sox some thought. Aside from the rampant vandalism and general asshattedness and I think I have figured out why my disdain is so rabid. It's because they won't leave me alone.

It's sort of like Paris Hilton or fundamentalist chrisianity. Sure, it's there, but why do you have to keep bringing it too my attention. Why, indeed, should I have to care.

To quote the bard, "There's the rub." You can not live in Boston without caring about the Red Sox and you can not live a relatively peaceful life during ball season (which seems to get longer every year) unless you love the Red Sox. You have to be able to listen to people gabble on ad nauseam about baseball and at least affect some interest. Telling someone you really couldn't care less leads to long diatribes about the magnificence of an activity, if something as inherently dull as baseball can be considered an activity,and that there is something intellectually and morally wrong with you if you cannot dedicate yourself heart and soul to THE TEAM. For me baseball is a sport that has all the thrills of watching uranium metamorphose into lead. You know it will happen eventually, but it takes time.

Sox fans also refer to themselves as the faithful. It actually is appropriate. They exhibit a zeal that would have left Torquemada in tears with admiration and joy. Sox fans are like inquisitors or jihadists actually. There is no room for the unbeliever. They also seem to have a fondness for torching things. During the last World Series they burned several cars. Walking to the T station this morning I noticed that the first of what will be many trash cans have been set alight. (Who ever decided that plastic was an acceptable material for public waste barrels?) I suspect that if they could, they would start burning Yankees fans and anyone else who hasn't drunk the Kool-Aid as heretics in order to purify the world for "the faithful". And somehow, this is all acceptable because it's "just high spirits".

It will all be over eventually. For now, I will just have to live with the noise, the crowds of brain dead fans and mornings where the sidewalks which on normal post game days are a slurry of regurgitated stadium food and beer and broken glass has the added attraction of horse shit because they decided to deploy and extra 1,000 policeman, at the tax payers expense mind you, to try and keep the fans under control.

In the final analysis, it is like a plague of boils or Celine Dion. There isn't anything I can do about it so I am just going to have to live with it until it's over and try and take what joy I can in the knowledge that it isn't permanent. I bought some ear plugs to block out the noise from the stadium, the fans out on the streets who are standing around staring at the stadium as if they are waiting for it to levitate and transport them into heaven and the helicopters and blimps that will be droning over the area. Now, I figure if I can somehow score some valium I will make it to the end of the series without any unnecessary bloodshed.

Cranky

For some reason I seem to have got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning. I really don't have any reason to be cranky. I actually got a pretty good nights sleep, the Uber-boss is out for the day, I had a very good workout this morning and I am going to the opera tonight.

The opera, "Ainadamar" alone should be making me happy. It is being directed by Peter Sellers and Dawn Upshaw will be singing. Ordinarily I am something of a philistine and if it's not in the canon then chances are I am not really interested. Philip Glass I find to be like a toothache. However I have heard some samples of Golijov's music and I think this will be both interesting and enjoyable.

Maybe it's the weather. It is a rather dismal day. Gray, foggy, too warm for October and unpleasantly humid. I think at this point I am ready for short cool days and the weather just seems disconcertingly out of place. I guess I don't enjoy the tease when I know that the misery of winter weather is right around the corner.

It could have been the fact that "the driller" was working out this morning. There is a fellow that comes to my gym that almost exclusively uses the machines. His approach is to assume the correct position to perform the exercise and then instead of actually lifting the weights, will become rigid, lever the weights up and then drop them. It sounds like he's drilling for oil, hence the driller. The experience can be a bit nerve wracking first thing in the morning. In spite of that, I actually had a good workout and continue to keep up the optimistic hope that eventually I will start looking like someone who goes to the gym, all current evidence to the contrary.

My morning trip to my regular coffee shop was also marred by the new kid working the counter. Ordinarily I walk in and half the time my coffee is waiting for me when I get to the counter. This wasn't the case this morning which was fine. I don't know the new kid from Adam. However, the fact that he ignored me for 5 minutes while he had a very animated conversation with some friend standing there, did not win him a new friend in me. Eventually, the young woman who used to work the cash register and has moved on to food prep saw me waiting, got me my coffee and then had to tell new counter boy to ring me up, since he really couldn't be bothered to pay attention.

I wonder if all of this is carbohydrate deprivation. I am trying to get a couple of pounds off, before Gavin, Tater and the Farmboyz arrive for a weekend in the provinces. Extraneous Ganome, hanging over the belt is in the process of being, if not eliminated, at least minimized as much as possible.

I also am trying to create a new data base at work. Well, spreadsheet actually, which involves fighting the evil forces of Excel. I have also had a visitor show up, who no one in the office found it necessary to inform me was arriving, so I had to scramble for non-existent desk space and get him settled in. Still I got it done and that is something.

Whatever the cause of my whiny condition, I hope to have it under control by this evening. Besides, it's Friday and that should be enough to make anyone happy.

If I buy the yarn....

Bad joke time!

Gay Man #1: My mother made me a homosexual.

Gay Man #2: If I buy the yarn, will she make me one?

Roger is trying to expand his knitting horizons, so I sent this picture off to him to see if I could spur him on to new projects. Actually, I suggested that he try making socks. However, since I came out of the closet on the internet about my knitting habit and the fact that cold weather is arriving and I am getting my sweaters out, I thought I would show an example of what you can accomplish if you have too much time on your hands and virtually no love life.

No Cupcake

Cupcake flaked out on me last night. I rushed home to feed the cat before the gym and as I was putting my coat back on the cell phone rang. Cupcake had overbooked and was looking to reschedule. I swear that the child is always late and totally disorganized. I am thinking about consulting the committee and seeing if he can get an honorary gay card.

In the long run I am sure it was all for the best since my chest is still sore from Mondays workout. None the less I went to the gym this morning and beat the crap out of my shoulders. I figure by the end of the day I will be unable to raise my arms. Hey, it's all good.

At any rate, I now have to once again try and set up a workout date with someone I am beginning to understand has the attention span of a mosquito. Don't get me wrong. Cupcake is a very good trainer and I have been making some progress since I have started working with him and have got some very good direction. It's just a matter of getting him positioned so that I am in his line of sight.

It's a good thing for him that he's so cute is all I can say.

Another post

I wound up having a very nice time last night with FB. It was good to see him again and a lot of fun, (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) For all you nosy bitches, the most you need to know is that once again I made a valiant attempt to swallow a man whole, dick first.

A nice side effect is that I slept like a baby last night. My circadian rhythm has been off ever since I got sick. Sleeping 20 hours a day for a week will really throw your internal clock off. Getting your freak on is a good way to tire yourself out for a good nights sleep. Since it happens a lot less frequently these days, I tend to forget that.

In other news, I am back at the gym and fairly sore. Going over a week without a workout makes a difference and now that I am a week back into the whole exercise program, I am still on the ouchy side. Tonight I get to go and have Cupcake torture me at the gym, which will I am sure be great fun. While Cupcake seems to be a really good trainer, I am starting to question the wisdom of working with someone who is one and half adults younger than I am. On the other hand, sometimes it's worth it to see the expression on his face when I can lift weights that he is convinced are too heavy for me.

Other than that my life is pretty much a big gaping void right now. There seems to be something in the air. Some malaise of the spirit. Everyone is feeling out of sorts and lazy. The one common thread I have heard all day is, "I just wanna go back to bed." And for those who are ready to get all smart assy, let me point out the only thing waiting for me in my bed right now is the cat. Mostly, I think it is just getting used to the shortening days. It really hasn't been until the past week that the weather has shown even the slightest inclination to cool off, so I don't think it's the change in the weather that is inducing the coma for me. Well, I suppose I should try and do a more convincing job of pretending to work.

Monday blahs

It's Monday. I have to say, it was a bit of a struggle getting out of the house this morning. My sleep pattern was shot to shit by the cold and I am now trying to get back to my normal bed and wake time. Easier said than done. I am about ready to resort to drugs.

Friday I spent the afternoon at my hunky dentist office. Sticker shock at the desk when I was checking out was pretty much to be expected. I have to keep reminding myself that he is actually very reasonable and that having teeth crowned is very expensive. I think I can safely say that any physical discomfort was outweighed by the pain in my wallet. Fortunately for me, Dr. D. does payment plans.

Saturday was a quite day. As they used to say in the westerns. Too quiet. I got nothing accomplished and spent a lot of time napping.

Sunday I spent wandering around town with RG. He needed to escape from his house. His roomate, who is finally home, was having family over and it threatened to turn into a mob scene. We went to brunch and then after a certain amount of hunting around located flash cards at Barnes & Noble's to help his housemate in his recovery from his stroke. Other than that it was lots of window shopping. I found a beautiful Joseph Abboud suit at Marshall's marked down to a mere $400. RG also discovered that I do no lie when I say I wear a 42. He seemed pretty convinced I could wear a 40, until he tried to cram me into a 40 jacket. It fit like a sausage casing. When the unforseen day where I actually have the money and find a suit that I do like, however, I have to make sure that I have some extra cash for tailoring, since the pants that come with a 42 short could accommodate 2 Ganomes.

Pretty much the afternoon revolved around looking at stuff we can't afford. I have discovered that RG has much more traditional taste in furniture than I do and he discovered that I have a whole different agenda as to what constitutes a comfortable chair. With a 26 inch inseam, I am not remotely interested in the chairs that I am seeing everywhere with the really deep seats.

We finally went out separate ways and I left RG flirting with the humpy bus driver on the overcrowded shuttle bus we had taken from downtown.

As I said, I dragged myself out of bed this morning and after dosing myself with some coffee headed off to the gym. It was a pretty uninspiring workout. Neither terrible nor with the lift of having exceeding my current level. However a little ray of sunshine appeared in my email. FB dropped a line to ask what I am doing after work. I think I do not have to tell anyone what I now have planned for after work. It might just be an all right Monday after all.

Autumn Leaves

It's a gray drizzly day here. Clammy. Not really warm but not cool either and definitely not comfortable. A difficult day to dress for, I started out with a sweater and a light jacket.

Looking at the trees which have yet to change color. What leaves are changing are simply drying up and going brown, not the wild riot of color usually associated with a New England fall.

I thought about raking leaves. Back in ancient times when I was a kid we would rake leaves and then burn them. It really does seem like it all happened in some long gone age.

I have noticed these days that they sell leaf bags, that when full, are suppose to resemble giant pumpkins. Somehow they lack the quality of a huge pile of leaves that just begged to be jumped into. Or to push your brother into. I remember raking piles of leaves under trees so that one could climb the tree and jump down from a branch into the waiting cushion. Like so many things it worked much better in theory than in practice, however when you are a kid, hope springs eternal and you would just keep piling leaves up to add to the cushion. It drove the old man crazy, because the pile would have to be moved so that he could burn them.

Burning leaves has been illegal for quite a while now and I know that considering the spectacular job we've done screwing up the environment that it is just as well that the practice has fallen out of favor. Goodness knows that there are also safety concerns. We had enough dimwitted flatlander neighbors who didn't have enough sense to not burn leaves on a windy day.

One neighbor, who was originally from Long Island and before moving to Vermont had always had a service come in and do his yardwork managed to set his back lot on fire and bring himself to the attention of the local volunteer fire department when, on a windy day, the sere field, burning out of control was threatening his house.

Here in the city it just seems like a truly bad idea, packed cheek by jowl as we are, though I can imagine in neighborhoods where people actually have yards that there were people who 30 years ago were still burning the leaves in their yard.

It was a smell that meant autumn, Halloween and Thanksgiving. The shortening days, the fires roaring briefly in yards and the scent of the burning leaves. Fall twilights as the amethyst sky faded to dark, bright orange bonfires, crackling in the crisp air, with the columns of smoke and tiny embers flying in the air like fairy lights.

We are conscientiously trying to make the world a safer place. We are, it can be argued, eliminating a small quantity of air pollution by banning these fires. I feel pretty confident we are safeguarding the feckless from accidentally burning down their own homes. Still it's sad. We have also managed to loose something that was almost magical. Some deep primal drive our ancestors felt at the change of the year to burn bonfires to try and keep back the night a little longer. A silent plea to the sun not to forget us and to return and warm the earth after it's long cold winter rest.

*I was telling Monkey about this post when I remembered the time that may brothers and I thought it was a brilliant idea to rake a really big pile of leaves up near the barn and then swing daredevil style out of the hayloft by a rope out onto the leaves. The older brother went first and of course yelled up, "Come on, I'll rake the leaves back up. It's great!" Butt numbing was a better description. It was a great idea right up until my mother looked out the window, that's when things just got ugly.

Full of Awesome

My favorite student worker, La Quebecer, stopped by my office a little while ago. She was concerned that I have been sick, so she made me pumpkin soup, which if full of yummy. La Quebecer is full of awesome.

The Battle of the Bulge

I went and saw Fred yesterday. He's my 20 year old doctor. I like Fred, he's very laid back and seems to be blessed with an uncommon amount of common sense. He is not constantly ordering tests and blood work. He actually listens to me when I talk to him and seems to feel that as long as I'm not going out and doing anything particularly stupid, I should be fine.

We talked about my bout with this last cold. The verdict being that there is a nasty cold going around. Then it was time to talk about things in a more general sense.

"Yeah, I know. I've put on weight, but it's mostly gym weight."

Fred gave me a somewhat skeptical look and we talked a bit about what constitutes an acceptable BMI. Basically, I was told I could get my body fat down to between 10 and 14 percent and that would be fine because of my activity level.

We also talked about other fun things, like when I should schedule my next colonoscopy. Not for another year or two, thank goodness. It isn't the actual procedure, it's the days before when you have to "clean yourself out". As my brother, who, being 4 years older than myself is a pro at this one pointed out the first time I had to go through this ordeal, "You overdose on laxatives and then after you've shit your brains out and feel like you couldn't shit anymore, you crap out your lower tract." It goes without saying that I am more than happy to forego this particular procedure for a couple more years.

Then is was time to get prodded and get my annual flu shot.

"Please take your shirt off and get on the exam table."

I stripped to the waist and hopped up. Fred started poking at me and got a slightly surprised look on his face.

"I don't think I'd loose more than 5 pounds if I were you." he said. "Exactly how much are you working out?"

I told him my routine. His only suggestion was more cardio, which we both agreed is one of the most boring form of exercise on the face of the planet.

He then whipped out the syringe for the flu shot and then gave me one of the most painless vaccinations I've ever had. I had to compliment him on his technique, since I hate getting shots.

"Well you're easy to give a shot to. You have plenty of muscle and not much fat."

Maybe all this exercise is paying off. At least I got an ego boost at the doctors. Now if I can get another 4% off my BMI.

Magic

Okay, I'm probably going to loose my gay card over this, but I just downloaded Bruce Springsteen's new album off of iTunes. I love it! I've been taking a certain amount of crap over the past 30 years for being a Bruce fan, but that's okay. Emmy Lou Harris, Raul Malo, The Pointer's, Patti Smith and Johnny Cash have all covered his songs so I feel like I'm in good company in my folly.

The reports of my death....

I am sorry I haven't posted in the last week, but basically I was either sleeping or feeling to rotten to think. These are not activities that lend themselves to posts. After all, there are only so many ways you can describe phlegm.

I do however appreciate everyones concern. I guess I got the idea that my absence from the blogosphere was causing alarm, when the niece called last night to make sure I was still alive.

Today is my first day back in the trenches after a weeks absence. I can hardly wait to find out what is lying in wait for me. With any luck, everyone was too busy torturing each other to create any problems for me.

The cat is probably bummed out. She was having a great time, because she had a victim to torture 24 hours a day.

It was a great big drag being sick, but I did have a chance to think about my current situation, work, living space, etc. I haven't reached any conclusions since I only managed to maintain consciousness on an average of about 4 hours a day, but at least I have started to think about where I am going.

Anyway. I'm back. Stay tuned for observations on the general thick headedness of my fellow creatures.

Craptastic

I am blogging from bed. I wish I could say it was because I have been detained by some hottie and I am being forced to put out. In fact, I feel like I have been gargling with kerosene and the back of my head is going to fall off. Luckily I am a laptop owner, so I don't actually have to get up to write this since achieving the perpendicular is making me queasy and besides for some reason, whatever I have is making my hips and lower back ache.

I had thought yesterday that this was just a particularly bad case of hay fever. I am not so sure today, since it is seeming more like a nasty cold. To add insult to injury, FB emailed me with some very interesting suggestions, all of which I could not entertain any enthusiasm for. I know I am not feeling well. I was forced to suggest that we attempt these activities at some future date. This is just not fair, since I haven't seen FB for a while.

Here's hoping that I have a speedy recovery and that I can get FB's attention once I am feeling better.

So f...ing rocks

Phone rings:

RG: THIS SO FUCKING ROCKS!!!

EG: Hi RG.

RG: THIS SO FUCKING ROCKS!!!

EG: You got your new computer, huh?

RG: THIS SO FUCKING ROCKS!!! I may have to beat off. (long list of every aspect of the new computer that rocks) I still want to come over tomorrow and have coffee and hang out...

EG: And look at people and laugh at them.

RG: Of course, but I will probably have red eyes and bags under them from staring at the computer.

EG:You'll probably still have a hard on.

RG:Probably. I'll talk to you tomorrow honey.

EG: Okay, see you then.


Yes, folks. RG will be back on a regular basis. His new iMac has arrived and it would seem that it so fucking rocks.

Getting MAD

Monkey posted this about a recent conversation we had regarding our desks and our work loads. He says it all AND he even did a drawing.

A Stardust Memory

This morning I had the iPod set to random play and Nat King Cole's version of "Stardust" came on. I love this song and it made me wonder for a moment, why?

It came to me that it was one of those random childhood memories. Not an actual event, but one of those fossilized moments, like and insect preserved in amber. Our family sitting in a booth in a little restaurant on the lake where I grew up. We had gone out for a drive, back when going for a drive constituted entertainment and we stopped on the way home. If I cannot recall any motivation or purpose for the drive, I can remember the moment.

We had a window seat and the restaurant was situated so that the back of the place faced out over the lake, in fact the dining room was built on pilings so that it really did overhang the lake. We were seated on banquets of red vinyl with a gray formica table and on the table was mounted an old fashioned jukebox carousel that let you flip through song selections and drop your coins in at the table to play your song. Chrome and vinyl and formica. The big window looking out over the lake and the sunset, oranges, pinks, reds, purples and every shade of blue the sky could offer hanging above and reflected in the water. My mother flipping through the metal pages hinged like an upright book on the table as she and the old man waited for their beers and our sodas to arrive.

"Oh! Nat King Cole. I love this song.", and after a quick rummage for a coin, and into the slot, "Stardust" played to a heartachingly beautiful sunset over a lake in New England. The pines black around the shore and on the island, the sky and the water, fiery jewel colors. For a few minutes there was nothing in the world but this melancholy song, and nature putting on a show of color that would only happen once ever in this world. Perhaps, why I remember this is because for that brief window in time we all seemed to be happy. No, not happy, content. No conflicts, no arguments and recriminations, just peace and the splendor of the scene and the wistful and beautiful voice of Nat King Cole.

Like I said, no real memory, just a perfect moment, trapped in the amber of memory.

I Win!

I was having one of my discussions with Monkey. We were talking about embarrassing childhood purchases and obsessions. He was telling me about some particularly hideous glasses that his mother bought for him when he was 11 because he liked them, which had resurfaced in the family attic.

"I'm surprised they are still around. They were hideous in the 1980's when they were new and they're hideous now." The glasses in question are lavender and shaped like tulips. "I mean for god's sake, I was still playing with unicorns when she bought them."

The mention of unicorns made me remember troll dolls which I first became aware of over 40 years ago and which as a little 'mo. They were one of those weird phenomena of the time and for some reason a very popular toy with children of both sexes. I collected them in the obsessive manner of children immersed in the latest fad. I started to tell Monkey about this.

"I should have known I was gay at the age of ten. I said, "Especially since I made clothes for them."

Monkey just looked at me dumbfounded for a second and then said, "Okay, you win."

Another Lazy Day

Another delightfully lazy day! I worked in the garden for a while this morning and then went home to take a shower before I headed off to the gym (how counterintuitive is that) to work out with Cupcake.

Cupcake is my new trainer. I was passed on to him when my old trainer took a much better job with a more upscale gym. Cupcake is 21, working his way through college and just as cute as can be. The first couple of workouts, he was taking it easy on me I am guessing because I am so ancient. He has since figured out my old trainer wasn't kidding when he introduced us and told Cupcake, "You can beat him up all you want, he's really strong." I shot myself in the foot at any rate when he set up my weights one day, I looked at him, said "You're kidding right?" and put 20 more pounds on the bar. Now I walk out of the gym once a week feeling like I've been hit by a truck, but hey, it's all good.

I went to my favorite coffee shop afterwards to grab some lunch. It was a nice surprise on a couple of levels. The sandwich I ordered, chicken with pesto, tomato and fresh mozzarella on pannini was just delicious and the owner, who I usually see every morning when I am picking up my coffee stopped me to ask me where I'd been. I had always liked this place just because they always seem friendly, and I like it even more now that I know that they actually do pay attention to my coming and going.

I wandered across the Common to the Public Gardens and through Back Bay and then stopped at Trader Joe's to pick up some vegetables to go with dinner. I got so cruised!

I am usually oblivious, but this was a 100 watt stare. I doubt my admirer was all of 30, but what a cutey! I am now in a more full understanding of RG and his stance on the 22 year old that is stalking him. It is very flattering to have a handsome young guy check you out, but I am not sure I would want to pursue it any further. Sure, I am kicking myself a little for not chatting this kid up, but... too young. That's the long and the short of it.

I went to check out my garden to admire the progress that I have made so far and amuse myself watching the gold finches on the finch feeder I bought a few weeks ago. The feeder is set up so that the finches have to hang upside down to feed. A feat that it seems any competitors are unequal to. I also caught site of the hummingbird again. It really seems to like the salvia. I will have to think about plants that will attract hummingbirds next year.

I checked the mail and I have received a book from The Niece, "The Stolen Child" which sounds really good. It is about changelings. I know a bit about folk tales and the idea of the fairies coming and substituting children so I am intrigued by the premise and since The Niece has good taste in books, I think that I will enjoy it. That's about it for todays excitement. I could get used to being a gentleman of leisure.

Hummingbird

I had a visitor in my garden today.

Lazy Sunday, sorta.

It has been a pretty eventful Sunday. I went off at 8:00 this morning with C. to the Arboretum plant sale. These things are rather like the "Running of the Brides" wedding gown sale that they have at Filene's basement. Only with WASP's in chino's, topsiders and silly canvas hats.

I arrive at these things prepared. I have the catalog marked up, or I have a cheat sheet with the plants I want. There is no deviation and I am through the sale faster than Ex-Lax.

Among this years prizes are an Arborvitae, a caryopteris, a couple of Maiden Hair ferns, 2 different varieties of daphne and a really cool, prehistoric looking fern called polystichum. All for 42 bucks. Not bad.

I got home and had some coffee and then RG came over around noon and we had a fun filled Sunday afternoon of window shopping and people watching. We went over to the Cambrige Galleria Mall, so we could stop by the Apple Store. RG wanted to drool over the iMac's since he is scoring a new computer. I have been giving him shit about buying a desktop, just to yank his chain, but he followed my advice and snagged himself a 1700.00 computer for 1100.00 by getting a refurbished computer off the Apple site. Pretty sweet, huh? At any rate once he gets this thing he will disappear off the face of the earth, so I'd better enjoy his company while it lasts. Though, I can always suggest that people watching might be as good as it was today.

I don't know what was going on, but there was some sort of hot male convention in town or something, because the 2 of us were leaving puddles of drool all over Boston. I'm not joking. Much hotness was wandering around. RG pointed out that I am as big of a pig as he is, though I reminded him that I am a picky pig, which got us off on a tangent about Warner Bros. cartoons, but that is a topic for another post.

RG discovered something today about me, so I'd better out myself before he does. I knit. Yes, it's true. Actually, I make pretty nice sweaters and someday I may even post a picture or 2, though I feel a bit like that would not be much different than boring people with pictures of grandkids. Smile, smile, nod, nod (Oh God, make it stop!)

Tomorrow morning I intend to descend on the garden, armed with a shovel and a wheelbarrow and start the landscaping renovations. I will bring my camera and get before, and hopefully after shots. I've got the whole week, but I'd like to get in a few other activities other than just gardening. I'm hoping to see Mikey during the course of the week out in the garden, however, it is getting pretty cool out there so I can't promise any more shirtless Mike this year.

Scrambled eggs

I am taking the next week off from work! I've earned it. Besides, it was generally considered at the office that I really needed some time off since I had begun to dribble and babble. As far as I can remember they haven't had to hide any dead bodies, so I think that things will be okay when I get back into the office to face down a weeks worth of backlog.

To celebrate, I made myself scrambled eggs with chorizo and home fries. Ordinarily, breakfast tends to consist of a protein shake and a handful of vitamins. Today, I felt like I had earned a big, not necessarily that good for you, breakfast.

The day had started out rainy and chilled. Not actually a bad way to start off a vacation. I did not feel any burning need to go out and do anything. It was a perfect morning to laze around. I eventually wandered off in the direction of Starbucks to meet Wahz at his office. The nice thing about Wahz's retirement is that I know where to find him any morning of the week at 8:30. We spent and hour or so discussing such vital subjects as our season subscription for Opera Boston, our gym routines, exactly how annoying the Sox fans are and our schadenfreude over the discomfort of the yuppies of Back Bay and Beacon Hill if the plan goes ahead to pursue construction on a tunnel on Storrow Drive at night, rather than reroute it over the park land on the Esplanade.

Back home I thought about doing some long overdue housework. Then I thought about a nap and the nap won the contest. All in all it has started off as a good break from work. The weather seems like it's going to cooperate. It is suppose to be sunny and in the 60's. Perfect weather to work in the garden. I am going to go to a plant sale tomorrow with C. and all in all, I am hoping relaxation will ensue. Who knows, I might even fire off a few synapses and start posting on a regular basis again.

Never too old

I share my office with 3 other people, all of whom are considerably younger than I am. They are all nice young guys though and things actually are pretty harmonious. This morning, one of my office mates told me that he had a story that he wanted to share with me that he thought I'd appreciate.

It seems that one of his uncles has just come out to the family. The uncle, who had been married has been divorced for several years now. Not too long ago my office mate and his dad had been visiting and they had met the uncle's "friend". After the visit, office mate, hereafter referred to as OM said to his father, "Do you think Uncle M is gay?"

His father opined that he had been wondering the same thing himself.

A few months later the uncle decided to come out to the family and the news, such as it was, was broken to every one, including OM's 94 year old grandmother. Her response was to send flowers to the uncles partner with a note welcoming him into the family.

"How cool is that?", OM asked me. "I mean, she's 94 and my late grandfather was very conservative and would not have been accepting at all. And my grandmother had always been the good supportive wife who always backed up anything her husband said."

I gather that there is going to be a family reunion, and both grandma and the newest member of the family are going to be there. OM is pretty excited about all this and is looking forward to seeing the meeting of the generations. Did I mention that OM is a straight boy? Cause he is. And he's excited about all this, because as a young straight guy, he thinks this is the way the world should work.

All I have to say about OM is, "How cool is that?"

Last rose of summer

My yellow rose is making one last showing. It is getting a bit late, and really is more the season for the Sweet Autumn Clematis. I am still waiting for my Montauk Daisy to show signs that it is going to do something. It has become pretty huge this year, but so far no sign of buds! I am wondering what that is all about and if the crazy weather is the reason why it may not do anything in the lines of flowers this year.

Starting this weekend I will be out in the garden with a shovel and a wheelbarrow. The annuals are coming out paths are going to be widened and the layout and plants rethought. It should be an interesting project and I am hoping that I will have some success with a less is more approach.

I love my garden, but at this point there really is too much of a good thing. I'm hoping with a simplified design that it will be more appealing and show off some of efforts better. You will undoubtedly be bored with lots of pictures during the process.

The winner is....

Mike and I had to get out our tiaras and sashes this weekend. It was Fensfest, the annual get together for our garden society, where they barbeque, sell hot dogs, try and raise a little cash and hand out awards for gardens.

I, slave to beauty that I am, had gone off to the gym first, so imagine my surprise when I came back to the gardens and saw this!



At the risk of sounding insincere, I think I was even more pleased when I saw this attached to Mikey's fence.



Setting aside for the moment that he is a friend and also chock full of shirtless Mikey hotness, Mike is a very good gardener and richly deserving of some recognition. He has transformed 2 neglected plots into a wonderfully well thought out garden.

I on the other hand was a bit embarrassed. I have been neglecting my garden over the past 2 or 3 weeks and it is turning into an overgrown jungle. I have justified this neglect because I am planning on some serious changes. Paths are going to be widened, and beds and plantings seriously edited and reduces in size. As it stands at the moment you need a machete to get through the overgrowth.

I will say this, it is still pretty damned colorful, and I know that it has me swearing a blue streak. It's going to be a bitch spending the rest of the summer gardening in a gown and spike heels.

The sacrifices I make for being fabulous! Well, at least I feel like I am being appreciated.